Here, he stopped, and laid down the
newspaper. Trudaine took it from him, and
shook his head forebodingly, as he looked
over the paragraph which had just been
read.

"Bah!" cried Madame Danville. "The
People, indeed! Let those four pieces of
artillery be properly loaded, let the Swiss
Guards do their duty; and we shall hear
no more of the People!"

"I advise you not to be sure of that," said
her son, carelessly: "there are rather too
many people in Paris for the Swiss Guards to
shoot, conveniently. Don't hold your head
too aristocratically high, mother, till we are
quite certain which way the wind really
does blow. Who knows if I may not have
to bow just as low, one of these days to
King Mob, as ever you curtseyed in your
youth, to King Louis the Fifteenth!"

He laughed complacently as he ended, and
opened his snuff-box. His mother rose from
her chair, her face crimson with indignation.

"I won't hear you talk so — it shocks, it
horrifies me!" she exclaimed with vehement
gesticulation. "No, no! I decline to hear
another word. I decline to sit by patiently,
while my son, whom I love, jests at the most
sacred principles, and sneers at the memory
of an anointed king. This is my reward, is
it, for having yielded, and having come here,
against all the laws of etiquette, the night
before the marriage? I comply no longer;
I resume my own will, and my own way. I
order you, my son, to accompany me back to
Rouen. We are the bridegroom's party, and
we have no business overnight at the house
of the bride. You meet no more till you
meet at the church. Justin! my coach.
Lomaque, pick up my hood. Monsieur
Trudaine! thanks for your hospitality; I shall
hope to return it with interest the first time
you are in our neighbourhood. Mademoiselle!
put on your best looks to-morrow, along with
your wedding finery; remember that my
son's bride must do honour to my son's taste.
Justin! my coach— drone, vagabond, idiot,
where is my coach!"

"My mother looks handsome when she is
in a passion, does she not, Rose?" said
Danville, quietly putting up his snuff-box as the
old lady sailed out of the room. "Why you
seem quite frightened, love," he added,
taking her hand with his easy, graceful air,
"frightened, let me assure you, without the
least cause. My mother has but that one
prejudice, and that one weak point, Rose.
You will find her a very dove for gentleness,
as long as you do not wound her pride
of caste. Come, come! on this night, of all
others, you must not send me away with
such a face as that."

He bent down, and whispered to her a bridegroom's
compliment, which brought the blood
back to her cheek in an instant.

"Ah how she loves him— how dearly she
loves him," thought her brother, watching
her from his solitary corner of the room, and
seeing the smile that brightened her blushing
face when Danville kissed her hand at parting.
Lomaque, who had remained
imperturbably cool during the outbreak of the old
lady's anger; Lomaque, whose observant eyes
had watched, sarcastically, the effect of the
scene between mother and son, on Trudaine
and his sister; was the last to take leave.
After he had bowed to Rose with a certain
gentleness in his manner, which contrasted
strangely with his wrinkled haggard face, he
held out his hand to her brother. "I did not
take your hand, when we sat together on the
bench," he said, "may I take it now?"

Trudaine met his advance courteously, but
in silence. "You may alter your opinion of
me, one of these days." Adding those words
in a whisper, Monsieur Lomaque bowed once
more to the bride, and went out.

For a few minutes after the door had
closed, the brother and sister kept silence.
"Our last night together, at home!" that
was the thought which now filled the heart
of each. Rose was the first to speak.
Hesitating a little, as she approached her brother,
she said to him, anxiously:

"I am sorry for what happened with
Madame Danville, Louis. Does it make you
think the worse of Charles?"

"I can make allowance for Madame
Danville's anger," returned Trudaine, evasively,
"because she spoke from honest conviction."

"Honest?" echoed Rose, sadly — "honest?
— ah, Louis! I know you are thinking
disparagingly of Charles's convictions, when you
speak so of his mother's."

Trudaine smiled, and shook his head; but
she took no notice of the gesture of denial—
only stood looking earnestly and wistfully
into his face. Her eyes began to fill; she
suddenly threw her arms round his neck, and
whispered to him. "Oh, Louis, Louis! how
I wish I could teach you to see Charles with
my eyes!"

He felt her tears on his cheek as she spoke,
and tried to reassure her.

"You shall teach me, Rose— you shall,
indeed. Come, come! we must keep up our
spirits, or how are you to look your best to-
morrow?"

He unclasped her arms, and led her gently
to a chair. At the same moment, there was
a knock at the door; and Rose's maid
appeared, anxious to consult her mistress on
some of the preparations for the wedding
ceremony. No interruption could have been
more welcome, just at that time. It obliged
Rose to think of present trifles; and it gave
her brother an excuse for retiring to his study.

He sat down by his desk, doubting and
heavy-hearted, and placed the letter from the
Academy of Sciences open before him. Passing
over all the complimentary expressions
which it contained, his eye rested only on
these lines at the end: — "During the first
three years of your Professorship, you will be